


Mirrors are a Road I’d Rather Stray From

by weifu



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Felt a type of way, Mentions of Anxiety, Mirrors, Other, mentions of depression, so this is my way of venting, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weifu/pseuds/weifu
Summary: Spencer Reid looks in a mirror and has a good think.





	Mirrors are a Road I’d Rather Stray From

When he looked in the mirror in the morning, sometimes he’d stare a little too long. Sometimes he stared just long enough to feel sane. But it never felt like he could justify it. It wasn’t egotistical of him, was it? To stare at himself?

It was almost confusing to look in the mirror. Seeing his face flipped, boring into himself blankly. He could barely identify what he saw as himself. He didn’t recognise his reflection. 

He did like what he saw, but other times he hated it. When he looked now...he couldn’t decide. He guessed it was fine, this was fine, this confusion. Confusion can always be rationalised, he thinks, tracing over his features with eyes full of both everything and nothing.

He couldn’t decide if he completely hated himself, or loved himself. No, he definitely hated himself. He only loved — liked, the parts of himself that were useful. The parts he was able to get along with, and the parts he found to be happy. Though happiness wasn’t exactly something that he came across often.

When he looked into his own eyes, he couldn’t tell if he even saw a person. He wanted so much, he wanted love and warmth and enough happiness to last the rest of his life, but he could only wonder if he deserved that. If he needed that. 

Maybe he was deserving of just...this. An unsettling uncertainty he could ignore until it left for those brief moments of okay-ness. Those brief moments of okay-ness fuelled him, like his old drug of choice. He craved the short bursts of serotonin to break up the long running shit show of his life. 

Something was wrong with him. He had always told himself, he had always felt wrong, off. He had sat and thought to himself, this isn’t right, I’m supposed to be normal, I’m supposed to be alright. I’m not supposed to feel...like this. Though, feeling was something he had become unacquainted with. A long lost friend he had forgotten the name of, a group of them so different and diverse that had merged into one large unidentifiable lump that kind of just made up his emotional capacity.

Whenever something happened, something to warrant a strong emotional response, he could never figure out how to respond. His friends had been injured, died, he had been lied to and hurt. He could rarely find the right feeling, as if it had up and left him. He wanted to feel something so badly, he forced it up. It didn’t stick.

It really made him wonder if he was hiding under a thick shell, or if this had been himself all along. But whatever. He thought about it too much, mulled over the little things. It was nothing. It was nothing. That’s what made the most sense. He was overreacting. It was just a bout of depression, a bout of anxiety. A bout of feelings and things that didn’t make sense. 

He rubbed at the smooth purple lining his eyes, it was time for another long day at work. Another long lifetime of emptiness. Another long life, another. Just another. A hopeless cycle. He briefly pondered if reincarnation was possible, if it did he wondered if he was the reincarnation of someone famous. He began to wonder if any theoretical past selves had the same problems as him. 

Thinking like this too much was dangerous. He could easily fall into a pit of slithering doubts, wrapping him up and squeezing, hard. So hard that despite being able to breathe perfectly, he’d momentarily wish he couldn’t. 

He didn’t want to think so much. He felt beaten down by these thoughts, telling him he was useless, unskilled, untalented, a waste. Any talents he had were undermined, he could never be good enough. He would never be who he wanted to be.

Even with bursts of happiness and the short motivated, optimistic episodes he’d experience, no matter how hard he tried to be a better person. No matter how hard he could try, he never felt confident in his ability to become better. Maybe he’d fool himself for a day or two, he’d tell himself that ‘this is enough’. This is enough for today, I’ll be grateful later.

He wanted to try so badly. He did. But there was too much. He wanted to enjoy things, to live life like it was something to be enjoyed. To stop worrying about possible death scenarios and stop thinking about how terrible he was and just enjoy himself. Could he even do that? 

Why couldn’t he just get up and move. Move. Move. He couldn’t. He liked things quiet, still, serene. He liked things loud, lively and messy too. That was the balance. Maybe he was all too aware of it. Maybe he was just a fool for believing things like that. But with nothing to lose, what harm was it believing in spectres his rational brain had long since decided against?

Back to the mirror, glaring and right in front of him. Dusty and unclean, a mess doubling up on him. He didn’t want to look at it anymore. He didn’t want to look at himself anymore. 

He didn’t think he ever wanted to look at a mirror ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a rambly vent, with Spencer Reid as my lightning rod for bad shit. Though you can disconnect it from his character completely, it doesn’t matter. I just really wanted to get these emotions out on non-physical paper.


End file.
